


Yew & Ivy

by thewildwilds



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - School, Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts, Odesta, Romantic Comedy, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:36:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4088917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildwilds/pseuds/thewildwilds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick O'Dair was certain he’d never pay any attention to a girl like Annie Cresta, but somewhere between her hysterical laughter and wiping black goop off his face, he decided that getting revenge on her would be something very sweet indeed. Hogwarts AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yew & Ivy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and we're back! This is a little more melodramatic/fluffier than I usually write, but these characters are early high school age, so hopefully it's still realistic. I mean, as realistic as fictional characters in a wizarding school can be.
> 
> A couple characters will have alternate spellings to their names. I assure you they are not typos.
> 
> A million thanks to my beta arborgoldwine who put up with me screaming about how long this fic grew and how much about Harry Potter I forgot.
> 
> Rated for mildly suggestive themes.

  


Finnick O'Dair was certain he'd never pay any attention to a girl like Annie Cresta. ****

For one, they were from two completely different worlds. He had been graced with the whole package: good looks, athleticism, a winning smile, and exceptional grades. He was one of the Slytherin house prefects, an honor that surprised nobody, but pleased his folks immensely. He was also star Chaser of the house Quidditch team. Students from all four houses flocked the stands of the Quidditch pitch every time he took to the skies, screaming his name; when it came to putting on a good show, rarely did he disappoint. As soon as he walked through any door, he was always the center of attention, the golden boy of Hogwarts School.

And Annie Cresta was… not. Far from it.

That wasn't to say there was nothing noticeable about Annie Cresta. There were plenty of things to notice about her, all her oddities in particular. They had shared a boat in the beginning of their first year. Since she'd trailed her hands through the waters the whole boat ride over to the castle, Annie Cresta became the subject of attention in a way Finnick O'Dair never would. If he invoked their admiration, then she invoked their derision. Annie Cresta, who drifted off or laughed in the middle of lectures for no discernible reason. Annie Cresta, who wore canary yellow runners on her feet and a big house scarf wound tightly around her neck no matter what the weather. Annie Cresta, who waded in the Great Lake everyday, and often tread so far that the Giant Squid had to scoop her out and deposit her back on the bank. Annie Cresta, who showed up to class completely soaked, water and kelp dripping from her knotted hair, only bothering to dry herself with a hot-air charm when somebody mentioned it.

Being in the same year, they shared the majority of their classes together, but he could count on one hand the amount of times they'd interacted. He preferred socializing with his fellow peers, while she stayed in her own little bubble, and he was content to leave it at that, if not for the fact that Annie Cresta was far, far better at Potions than he was.

Finnick sighed, flipping a page in his Potions textbook distastefully. Despite his stellar marks, Potions had always been one of his weaker subjects. The fact that Professor Abernathy would so often partake in the concoctions only added to his aversion of the class, as just the thought of somebody ingesting hippogriff eyes and spider legs and bat wings so frequently made his stomach churn. He had managed to squeak by with his marks on the backs of his peers – a bit of flirting here, a bit of sweet talking there – but not every attempt was a success.

His table mate, a girl from Gryffindor, had been “helping” him with his potion (more accurately, doing all the work for him), but it seemed she wasn't entirely skilled at the subject either, because the contents of his cauldron were a gray, murky sludge.

“Oh, bugger. We'll need more salamander blood to start over,” the girl said, trying to appear cheerful despite her failure. “I'll go ask Professor Abernathy for some more.”

He looked to the front of the classroom, where Professor Abernathy was dozing in his chair. “No need,” Finnick said, waving his hand flippantly. “Why waste the energy when there's a simpler way? Just start the next batch while I go get some, won't you, love?”

He made a beeline for the closest station to his, where Annie Cresta and a girl from Hufflepuff were working, and shot them both his signature smile. “Hello, ladies! I don't suppose either of you could spare me some of your salamander blood? My partner and I are fresh out. I'll bring it right ba—”

“No,” said Annie Cresta, not looking up from her textbook.

Finnick stopped mid-sentence, quickly rearranging his expression into a pleasant (if confused) smile when he realized his mouth was hanging open. “Sorry?”

“No,” she repeated.

Again, his mouth hung open. She didn't bother to elaborate, merely muttered quietly to herself while she attended to her cauldron.

The girl from Hufflepuff, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed in the face of Annie Cresta's frankness. She picked up the small bottle of salamander blood and pressed it into Finnick's palm. “Here you are, Finn. Take as much as you need.”

To the Hufflepuff, he grinned a dazzling smile, covering her hand with his free one and giving it a quick squeeze. “Cheers, love. You're an angel.”

She blushed a delightful shade of pink, to which he answered with a wink. All the while, Annie Cresta hadn't looked up at him at all, most certainly drifting off again.

As soon as his back was turned, Finnick's carefully-crafted smile melted into an irritated grimace. Never before had he been treated with such downright disrespect. Who did Annie Cresta think she was? Who did Annie Cresta think _he_ was? Being mad was all fine and good, but he hadn't expected her to be rude on top of that.

He uncorked the little phial, wrinkling his nose at the sour smell. It was warm in his hand, and that only made his stomach churn even more. _Best to get this over with._

He heard her frantic footsteps before he saw Annie Cresta come scrambling over, arms outstretched. “Finnick O'Dair, wait, stop! Don't!”

Finnick sighed heavily. He hadn't a clue what her deal was, and he didn't care to find out. Losing his patience, he dumped a third of the phial into his cauldron. “Alright, alright, I said I'd return it right away, don't get your knickers in a kno—“

Before he could finish, the contents of his cauldron suddenly morphed from a springy yellow to a bubbling black. It exploded with a violent splash, splattering his face and the front of his robes with a substance that stank as bad as it looked.

The classroom startled as a collective, turning their attention from their cauldrons to Finnick, covered head to toe in failed potion.

Finnick could only stand shock-still as the blackened mixture dripped off his robes, his hair, down his nose. Annie Cresta, too, stood staring at him, wide-eyed, pressing her fingertips against her lips, but the gesture did nothing to hide the wide smile stretching across her pink cheeks, and soon she was doubled over clutching her sides laughing.

All eyes were on him, but nobody else dared make a sound. Professor Abernathy had woken up by then, making some smart remark about keeping their mixtures in the cauldrons while he magicked the mess away. It didn't matter, because the only sound he could focus on was Annie Cresta's relentless laughter.

Yes, Finnick O'Dair was certain he’d never pay any attention to a girl like Annie Cresta, but somewhere between her hysterical laughter and wiping black goop off his face, he decided that getting revenge on her would be something very sweet indeed.

  


 

Johanna Mason peered at Finnick from over her Transfiguration homework. “What is it _this_ time, O'Dair?” she muttered.

Finnick sat sprawled in one of the common room armchairs, lazily twirling his wand in slow circles while he levitated a quill in the air. He'd been staring at a point in the corner of the room with an impish smile playing upon his lips; Johanna had ignored him at first, not quite ready to dignify him with a response, but the longer she had stayed silent, the more and more he had hemmed and hawed. The Slytherin common room fireplace crackled before them as he stretched his legs out, cat-like, to warm his feet. “I'm going to seduce Annie Cresta,” he mused aloud.

Immediately, Johanna's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Who? The mad girl? She's the one always waterlogged when she walks into class, aynit?”

Johanna Mason was a fourth year, a year younger than Finnick; she had never witnessed Annie Cresta's oddities first-hand, but like many others, she'd heard the stories. Finnick tapped the tip of his nose, smiling, and Johanna frowned. “What for?”

He dropped the quill back onto the side table and leaned forward in his chair. “Don't act like you don't know.”

While hardly the story of the century, he was certain that plenty of students outside of his class had heard of Finnick O'Dair and the Potions fiasco, and he was certain Johanna Mason was one of them. The twitch of her lips betrayed any excuse she could come up with, so she merely shrugged her shoulders. “Just thought you got around for the fun of it, not for revenge, is all.”

Slapping a hand over his heart, Finnick feigned insult. “Johanna, really! I'll have you know my particular skill set can be used for very many different situations.”

Johanna rolled her eyes. Together, they seemed an unlikely pair, him with his self-effacing humor, her with her sarcastic wit; at the very least, they had to be insufferable together. But their friendship had been built off of being the only two who could handle each other's bullshit without screaming, and so far it was working out okay. “Right, right, so you say. Not like I'd be able to stop you, but are you really sure this is a _good_ idea?”

He propped his chin up against his knuckles, elbow on the arm of the chair. “Aww, Mason, are you _worried_ about me?” he challenged with a filthy little smile.

Johanna snorted and flicked the tip of her quill at him. Flecks of ink spattered on his cheek, and he glared at her distastefully. “Shut your cake hole, O'Dair. Don't get me wrong,” Johanna muttered. “Whatever happens is sure to be a wicked good time. A girl like Crazy Cresta, though? Touched in the head, that one. I think even you would have trouble getting through the skull of somebody like that.”

He narrowed his eyes, excitement blooming in his chest. “Is that a dare?” He certainly wasn't an “O'Dair” for nothing.

At the very word, Johanna set aside her homework and steepled her fingers. “Better. A bet?”

Of course, neither of them were in particular need of the money, but one handshake later and the bet was in place. By the end of the school year, ten galleons said he was going to seduce Annie Cresta.

  


 

Breakfast the next day began as the usual affair. His plate was piled high with many sweet pastries while the owls brought in the day's post. His sisters couldn't wait to hear all the fun things he'd get to do during the school year, and his parents sent their usual regards: keep out of trouble and work hard. (He always did the latter, and they at least hoped he did the former.)

Johanna suddenly elbowed him sharply, causing him to smear half of the strawberry jam on his knife onto his wrist instead. “Look. There's your future conquest,” Johanna hissed.

He looked to where she was pointing while he blindly cleaned the jam off his arm. Sure enough, there was Annie Cresta, sitting at one corner of the Ravenclaw table, two tables down.

Johanna's eyes glinted mischievously. She was going to see If he would chicken out or not. Of course, he accepted the challenge with a look that matched hers. He finished the rest of his scone quickly and dusted off his hands. “Excuse me,” he said, pushing away from the table.

Finnick approached the Ravenclaw table, stepping into the familiar swagger that never failed to turn heads. Annie Cresta was in the middle of speaking to seventh year Glossawn McClellan, her fellow Ravenclaw and this year's Head Boy. She gestured animatedly to whatever story she was telling, sloshing around pumpkin juice from the flagon in her hand.

He plopped himself into the seat opposite Annie – he did not miss the way she jumped in her seat – but he kept his attention on Gloss.

“How's she cuttin', McClellan?” he said with a grin that showed off every one of his pearly whites.

Gloss, who was not accustomed to Finnick visiting their table just to greet him, raised a skeptical brow. “O'Dair. You're not backing out from patrolling tonight, are you? It's a bit early in the year for you to be skiving off.”

“Of course not, mate. I'll be there like always. I came to speak with Miss Cresta, actually.” He turned to Annie finally, who looked taken aback.

Gloss looked between Finnick and Annie, back and forth, back and forth. Whatever he saw on Finnick's expression, it must have been one he recognized, because he stood up from the table abruptly. “Right. I'll leave you both to it, then.”

“'Lo, Finnick O'Dair,” said Annie with a small smile.

“Hello, Annie Cresta,” he purred. “You know, we haven't talked very much, have we? Even though we're in the same year.”

“We haven't,” Annie replied.

Finnick propped his cheek up against his knuckles, inspecting Annie with an unabashed intensity, like he'd found something he was rather fond of. “Well, I don't suppose I could keep you company then?” he drawled, paying extra attention to the honey-gold lilt of his accent.

She blinked a few times and said nothing, and for a second, he thought she might not have understood. But she shook her head and her eyes brightened. “Yes, yes you could!” she said eagerly, leaning over the table towards him. He reeled back on instinct; he could not help being at least a little startled. True, some of the girls he wooed were quick to throw themselves at him, but even they were more subdued than this – just the occasional stroking of his hair or shoulder or bicep, thinly masked behind any excuse to touch him at all. (They all blurred together after a while.)

“Tell me if you hear anything.” All of a sudden, she swigged a mouthful of pumpkin juice, tipped her head back, and began gargling loudly.

Finnick blinked rapidly, bewildered and at a complete loss for what to do. When he looked back over to the Slytherin table, he saw Johanna cackling madly as she tried not to choke on her eggs.

  


 

So maybe his first attempt hadn't gone… _exactly_ as planned. That was fine. Finnick was nothing if not adaptable.

But he wasn't sure if “adaptable” was what he needed to be. Not when he found Annie Cresta holding two halves of a clam shell up to her ears after fourth period. Not when she whisked him away to the owlery to notate the way the owls hooted at one another, or when she tapped random patterns into the cobblestone bricks along the walls of the North Tower. He had at least enough perception to piece together that Annie was creating a spell of some sort, though he hadn't a clue what clam shells and hoots and brick-tapping had to do with magic. He supposed this was something along the lines of Flavius Knighton, who concocted a myriad of different potions until his hair turned bright orange, or Octavia Burlman, who tried to read the future through crushing roses in her hands and noting the fall of the petals.

Well, nobody ever said innovation was a glamorous affair.

Annie was all too happy to include him in on her little experiments, passing him a useless trinket or asking for his thoughts, to which he had to fumble for an answer. He'd feigned interest, asking what this or that knick-knack was for while simultaneously laying on the charm (the latter of which she remained perfectly oblivious to). She never answered his questions, not really, always leaving him with the same two words.

“You'll see.”

After a while, he learned to stop asking altogether, because each iteration was no less exasperating than the last. He really, truly didn't understand.

  


 

Finnick popped a jelly bean into his mouth, pleased to feel the taste of lemon drop melting on his tongue. (He would never forget the time his youngest sister had fed him a soap-flavored bean; his Nana said it would do well to clean out his smart mouth.) It was Halloween, his favorite holiday of the year. He had gorged himself on all sorts of sweets and laughed himself silly over a prank Johanna had pulled on second year Katniss Everdeen by tricking the young Gryffindor into thinking she'd walked in on Johanna in the nip, so he was in far better spirits than he had been in the past few weeks.

He had since come to the conclusion that he had to be a little more obvious when it came to seducing Annie Cresta. A band of Hogwarts ghosts had performed a lovely song in the Great Hall, about a man calling to his love to meet him at a special tree, and he had to say, that was an inspiration.

While Professor Wiress had her back turned, he discreetly passed a note to Annie. He'd written her a poem, comparing her eyes to the ocean in the afternoon – because there was certainly nothing more romantic than a good wordsmith.

She hadn't noticed the folded square of parchment at her elbow until lecture was over and she began stacking her textbooks. Annie carefully unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning over the contents. Her lips moved as she wordlessly read over his poem, and when she started laughing, he hoped that it was from another one of her spontaneous giggle fits, and not at his expense.

  


 

Courting Annie Cresta wasn't at all what he had expected.

Mostly because it seemed she did not realize he was courting her in the first place. Whenever he would try to brush her hair back over her shoulder, or lean in close, or casually rest his hand upon her hand or knee, she'd continue on as if he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. Each time, he tried a grander and grander gesture, anything to spark a reaction from her, but still she smiled at him obliviously with those big, green doe-eyes.

He thought Ravenclaws were meant to be the intelligent ones.

Clearly, Annie Cresta was the exception.

  


 

“Will you hold this, Finnick O'Dair?”

“Sure,” he said flatly, taking hold of the two empty tin cans she passed his way. She alternated between tapping the tip of her wand against the surface of the cans and scribbling some notes onto a roll of parchment paper while he watched, trying to look interested. “Why do you call me that, anyway?”

Annie cocked a brow and canted her head. “Well that's your name, innit?”

“Yes, but you call me by my full name. Just 'Finnick' will do.” He grinned wolfishly, trying to look debonair despite holding two tin cans for seemingly no reason. “Or perhaps you had a better name for me? For you, I wouldn't mind.”

But Annie only looked bemused and his grin faltered. “No, Finnick O'Dair,” she said. “You're like a celebrity, you know. I should treat you like one.”

  


 

There were two sides to Annie Cresta.

One was hyper, eager, energetic Annie Cresta, who spoke in disjointed thoughts at a pace so rapid, he had to make sure his head was still on straight from the verbal whiplash. The second was oblivious, flighty Annie Cresta, who drifted into a world so deep into her head, he could not follow.

Right now, he was dealing with the second.

They sat on top of a desk in the empty Herbology classroom. Annie had hung back after class finished, and he'd taken the opportunity to stay back with her to keep her company. But she'd been caught up scribbling haphazard notes on a piece of parchment, not even sparing him a glance.

Bored, Finnick transfigured a sprig of lavender into a thin coil of rope. He fashioned it into a leash (or a noose), made an exaggerated face as he tightened it around his neck, hoping to get a reaction from her. “Would you like to take me for a walk?” he said, holding out the loose end to her.

But Annie only looked up for a moment, mildly amused. “You're very silly, Finnick O'Dair,” she said, and returned her attention to her paper.

He sighed, caught her by the hand to grab her attention and pinned her with his gaze. “Annie, let me be frank with you,” he said, dropping his voice an octave until it was low and husky. “You're a very interesting girl. I'm intrigued by you. I would like to get to know you… better. What do you say?”

She stared at him for a long moment, processing his words. He saw the flicker of realization in her eyes. “Oh,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said.

And then a small smile graced her features. “My name is Annie Cresta. I'm fifteen. I live with my dad in Brighton. I have a pet named Librae. I love fish and chips, and my favorite day of the week is Thursday.” She held out her hand. “I hope that works for now. Pass me the mandrake root?”

Finnick dutifully bit back the urge to scream. _“Sure,”_ he hissed around a forced smile.

  


 

It had been at least two months, with little progress, and he had been mulling over the idea of just ditching his efforts altogether, slither his way out while Annie Cresta was none-the-wiser, but Johanna's insufferable grin and ten galleon bet kept him from doing so.

This time _she_ was the one find him bent over his homework in the library.

“You look awful,” Annie said as soon as she sat down across from him.

His hand immediately flew up to touch the dark circles beneath his eyes. He'd had a sleepless night doing some last minute cramming for his Muggle Studies exam; Professor Latier's exams were always convoluted. “Making sure I don't fail any of my classes,” he said with a half-shrug.

Annie smiled, rearranging the blue and bronze banded scarf around her neck. “Shouldn't be a problem, even if you do. Failing isn't important. Not in the long run, you know? I mean, you failed so brilliantly in Potions, and that turned out awright.”

Finnick felt the corner of his eye twitch, for a variety of reasons: that she would bring up the root of his humiliation so blatantly, and that she assumed so much about his life. That she had the audacity to say that failing was “unimportant,” because it sure as hell was something important to him.

But Annie gave him an odd look. “No?” she asked.

He returned her stare with an odd look of his own. “'No' what?”

“The salamander blood.”

He waited a beat, but she did not elaborate any further. He stared at her like she was speaking another language. Hell, she probably was. A language known only to mad Annie Cresta. “What do you mean, Annie?” he asked, edged with barely-contained frustration.

Annie jumped a bit, like she'd been lost in thought. “Oh! Sorry. I heated it. The salamander blood. I just… I do it to skip ahead, but you're not meant to, because it ends up congealing it a bit, you know? You can't just use it under normal circumstances. It makes the whole thing unstable. Like—” She made a motion with her hands towards her face, as if reenacting the fiasco during Potions.

The realization came flooding within him like a bucket of cold water. It was clear to him, the reason why she had come running over, why she had said “no” in the first place. He hadn't a clue how to respond to this newfound knowledge, so he settled for a simple, “Oh.” _Oh, so you didn't mean to. Oh, so it was an accident. Oh, so I just didn't know._

“I can help you,” Annie said, noting his expression. “Your potions. I can help you. If you want.”

“What? Oh. Right, yes. Sure,” he mumbled, without really listening. He returned to his Transfiguration homework pointedly while Annie cracked open her own textbook.

The fact remained that Annie Cresta had humiliated him in front of the fifth year class.

This changed nothing.

  


 

Christmas holidays came and went.

He'd gone back to Bundoran for the holidays, arms laden with sweets from Honeydukes for his little sisters. The two weeks were spent assuring his parents he was keeping up his grades and flying circles around the competition in Quidditch, but Nana Mags rapped his knuckles all the same, certain that he was up to no good in some way, though he denied it all. (What she didn't know couldn't hurt her.) He returned to Hogwarts with far more sweaters than he left with.

For a time, he'd forgotten all about his revenge mission against Annie Cresta, partly out of frustration, partly out of time constraints. He'd been too buried beneath the mound of homework all his professors had piled on, “to make up for the time lost between lectures.” Studying was just as high a priority; while his parents hadn't explicitly stated how many OWL-level classes they wanted him to pass, given his track record, they expected good things from him without needing to say it.

That was all on top of Quidditch practices.

Finnick shouldered his broomstick as he made his way off the Quidditch pitch, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. It had been a particularly grueling practice. They were facing off against Gryffindor in the coming week, and their team captain had demanded an extra long practice to prepare. Since joining the team in his second year, they had maintained an unparalleled win-ratio, and he had no intention of stopping. Not unless he wanted to disappoint the whole team, his parents, and his house.

“Finnick O'Dair!”

He looked up from his broomstick and spotted Annie standing on the edge of the field. She hurried over to him, and he was at once reminded of his goal, and the bet, and though he was hot and sweaty, he was glad she had caught him when she did. Plenty of the girls always said he looked sexy in his Quidditch robes.

“Annie,” he said, fixing on a charming grin and canting his hips just so. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Annie beamed up at him. “Right you are! I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” he purred, unable to help the smug look curling on his features. Annie fidgeted, suddenly looking unsure. He felt even more pleased at just the sight. It seemed the time apart had done him some good. She had come crawling back, most definitely hungry for his attention. He leaned closer, an invitation that many girls before Annie Cresta hadn't been able to resist.

She suddenly thrust the largest toad he'd ever seen in his face.

On reflex, he reeled back with a startled cry. “Ah! Wh-What—”

Annie grinned, poking the toad in her hand. “Finnick O'Dair, meet Librae!”

Librae blinked its bulbous eyes asynchronously.

“Hello, Librae,” Finnick said weakly.

She grabbed him by the sleeve, tugging him back towards the castle. “Come on. Professor Abernathy will be going over the Draught of Peace next week. It's very difficult to brew, you know, but it's very important.”

“Wait, wait, Annie, hold on,” he sputtered, trailing after her helplessly.

Annie stopped, looking back to him. “I said I'd help you. Don't you remember? With your potions. I said so.”

He did remember. Sort of. That moment in the library. He swept his free hand through his hair and made a vague gesture towards the pitch. “Yes, but, I mean. I just got done with Quidditch practice.”

“You don't want to?” she asked, looking unsure again. He hesitated to answer. She filled in the silence. “I just think if you had something to _worry_ about with your brewing, you'd concentrate much better, you know? Maybe you'll finally start doing your own work. Librae is very important to me, so I trust you to take good care of him.”

He wasn't sure if he should feel offended of her calling him out on his skiving when it came to Potions (no matter how true it was). But something about the turn of her lips, the quirk of her brow made him reconsider. Time alone with Annie Cresta? At the very least, he could get a good rumor going. “Alright, Annie. Let's go.”

The uncertainty on Annie's face faded into a smile. Finnick allowed her to lead him by the sleeve back to the castle. The promise of studying hadn't been in his cards, but he supposed it couldn't hurt. She was a Ravenclaw after-all. And he had it on good authority that studying with a Ravenclaw was as good as foreplay.

Five practice potions later (he truly had to wonder how she'd gotten her hands on so much powdered moonstone) and the two of them were still very much clothed, brewing mixture after mixture.

He was surprised to find that dousing the toad in his practice batches did in fact improve his potioning, if only out of fear that he would unwittingly place the creature in a sleep with no end; it was not within his nature to harm an animal, even Annie Cresta's. He'd only made one mistake, when he'd forgotten to wash his ladle between mixtures. He had just been about to dip Librae into his latest mixture, but Annie had flailed her arms and batted the phial away after spotting that his potion had turned into a deep violet rather than a proper turquoise blue. The phial smashed against the wall, leaving behind a smear of violet substance that smoked menacingly.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he gasped, genuinely apologetic.

“That's awright,” she said, enchanting the mess away with a flick of her wand. “No harm, no foul. You should've seen the first time I botched a potion. Nearly lit the whole den on fire. It's why my mum gave me Librae in the first place. She said to me, 'Annie, if you care at all about this creature, you'll get your head out of the clouds and concentrate harder when you brew.'”

A cross between a giggle and a snort escaped her, and she quickly slapped her hands over her mouth.

Finnick cocked a brow, mildly amused at the sound she had made. “What?” he urged.

Annie looked sheepish. “Sorry. When I look back on it now, it's all sorts of funny. Just. When it happened, I singed my eyebrows right off. I looked like the Mona Lisa.”

Immediately, the image of Annie Cresta, with her thick eyebrows wiped clean off, filled his head; he tried valiantly to hold it back, but just the barest of smiles quirked upon his lips.

Maybe it was a _little_ funny.

  


 

Whoever had invented the Draught of Peace was certainly the type of person to find pleasure from others' pain. That was the only reason he could think of as to why something meant to soothe anxiety would be so difficult to brew.

Finnick peered into his cauldron, checking for the eleventh time that he was following the instructions exactly as they were written. _No shortcuts,_ Annie had instructed, even though she clearly did not practice what she preached. His potion had little bubbles foaming at the top. This seemed to be a good sign. Glancing around the room, he saw his fellow peers weren't faring very well with their own potions. Green sparks from one, gray steam from another; one student's cauldron was emitting a very foul odor.

“Finn?”

He looked up to see a blonde classmate standing before his station. (He was certain she'd been of the girls he had charmed into “helping” him with his potions during past lectures, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember her name.) “Can I help you with your potion? Draught of Peace is very hard to brew. Not that I think you can't do it yourself! I was just wondering if I could lend a hand,” rambled the girl, twisting the front of her skirt in her hands.

He flashed her his winning smile, and she brightened, until he responded, “I think I have it. Cheers, love.”

Had he been paying more attention, he might have noticed the crestfallen look on the blonde's face, but he was too preoccupied looking down at his textbook again, fearing that he might overheat his potion. _Where was I? Ah… Lower heat and allow potion to simmer for seven minutes._ He quickly twisted the dial on his brewing stand and waited. Before long, the contents of his cauldron turned a vivid turquoise. He ladled the mixture into a set of crystal phials, held one up to the light to observe the way it glittered and shined. When he looked back, he found Annie staring his way. She beamed when he met her gaze before quickly dropping her attention back to her own cauldron.

He had to duck his head, too, to hide his own grin.

  


 

When Annie caught him after sixth period and asked if he wanted to join her at the Great Lake before supper, he accepted the invitation without hesitation. He lounged on the grass, just off the bank of the lake, while Annie stood knee-high in the waters. It was another one of her little experiments for this grand project she'd been whisking him around here and there for. Not all of them made sense, and he had yet been able to put all the pieces together.

Finnick entertained himself for a bit, blowing stray blades of grass and seeing how long he could get them to stay in the air with his breath alone. But eventually, the little spot of sunshine on his patch of grass moved out of his reach. It would be suppertime soon, and Annie had hardly spoken a word. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Annie, what are you doing all this for?”

He didn't know why he had bothered asking. He was expecting another “You'll see,” or complete silence, but this time, Annie looked over her shoulder and blinked, as if she'd never stopped to ponder the question herself.

“Without barriers, do you think it'd be easier for us to understand one another?” she asked.

It took him a long moment to answer; he wasn't sure if she had heard his question properly. “Yes?” he replied uncertainly.

Annie shook her head as if she were shaking off water, something she often did when she realized he wasn't quite grasping what she was trying to say. “My father used to tell me that my mother became a mermaid,” she tried again. “That's just what he said, because I was young, and he thought I wasn't well enough to understand the truth.”

He furrowed his brows, but nodded, waiting to see where this would go. It was a poor attempt at a lie, if he had to say so himself. He knew that Annie's father was a Muggle, while her mother had been a half-blood. Muggles seemed to believe mermaids to be beautiful, harmless creatures. But Finnick had studied the merrows of Ireland, and he knew the dangers the creatures possessed; he knew to stay away from the waters to avoid them. To insist that Annie's mother had become something like _that_ was terribly absurd.

“Police said it was a shark that did it. But when I said it was a horse that stole my mother away, nobody believed me. Not even my father.”

“A horse? You mean a kelpie?” he said, realization flooding in. More dangerous than mermaids or merrows were kelpies: water demons that swam in the deep and snatched up their prey to devour their skin and bones.

Annie nodded.

“When I was a child, I used to go out to the ocean and see how long I could hold my breath underwater. My mum hated it, because I'd try to stay underwater as long as possible, and then I'm pop by out to scare her. One day I swam out while mum wasn't watching. It was peaceful, you know? Underwater. It felt like I could stay there forever. And then, the most magnificent stallion appeared. I didn't know what it was then – nobody told me – but it was beautiful. It came to me, like it would take me someplace very far away. Then I could hear mum yelling at me, but I didn't understand her, with all the water in my ears, you know. She swam out fast as she could to save me before I could touch it, and all I could see were the bubbles from her mouth when she screamed.”

She touched a hand to the scarf round her neck, perhaps unconsciously, and Finnick understood.

“Oh,” he whispered, hardly sure he'd said anything at all.

But the somber expression on her face did not last long. She looked back to him with an eagerness that he had come to expect from her. “So how do we understand each other? With our voices, right? We have owls and floo powder, but sometimes it's not enough, and sometimes it's too late. Just think of what good it would do, to have a spell like that. Carry your voice past any barrier, through water or walls. Wouldn't that be fantastic?”

He had barely recognized what she'd said, because he was caught up thinking about a little Annie Cresta, shaken and traumatized after witnessing her mother's violent death, pleading for somebody, anybody, to listen to her, only to be shot down by the authorities and a father who did not understand. Deemed too unwell to handle the truth, and spoon-fed stories to soften a blow she'd already taken.

“I didn't know,” he said lamely. He realized he was digressing; his response didn't make any sense in regards to her question, but if anybody understood how to pick up the ends of a broken conversation, it was Annie Cresta.

She smiled, a clear indication that she did. “All you had to do was ask, Finnick O'Dair. It's what I always do.”

Finnick nodded, watching the way the setting sun reflected off the waters and haloed her form. “Alright. I'll ask from now on, alright?”

  


 

There was no denying that Annie Cresta was very odd.

The experiments and projects aside, she had a way with words that was unlike any other. One he'd gotten the barest grasp on. It seemed that she was constantly dropping words and omitting important bits and jumping ahead in conversations because she hadn't the time to reiterate a point she thought was obvious already. It had never occurred to him before then that perhaps she said and did such odd things because she did not know of a better way of expressing her thoughts, not in a way that was uniquely Annie Cresta.

And yes, it was odd, but mostly just… different. She would speak in loopty-loops and zig-zags, and he would fill in the holes and pick up the words and reorder them and give them back to her, and somehow, everything would make sense. With just a bit of extra effort. He realized that he was steadily becoming fluent in the language that was Annie Cresta, and that, oddly, gave him a profound sense of satisfaction.

Finnick did not feel the sentiment as strongly as he did now, while the two of them stood waist-deep in the Great Lake. In one hand, he held his wand, the tip of it illuminated just enough to reflect off the surface of the water, but nothing more. He held her hand with his other, both of them keeping each other balanced in case of one wrong step. Annie had convinced him to sneak out with her after hours, because it was imperative for the spell – something about how the blackness of the waters serve as a metaphor for how misunderstanding can shroud the mind – though it hadn't taken very much convincing at all. With OWL exams looming in the distance, and the team's final Quidditch match for the term against Hufflepuff fast approaching, whatever moment of pleasure he could find, he would take.

When Annie touched the tip of her wand to her lips, and then to the lake, the waters hummed and vibrated with a melodic, soothing sound. It reminded Finnick of humpback whales.

“Anything? I think I almost have it.”

“It's nice. Calming. It's like a symphony, almost.”

Annie frowned and scratched the tip of her wand against her temple, something she always did when she was feeling frustrated. He didn't see why. Though there was certainly no decipherable message in her spell, the sound was quite beautiful. “What's on your mind?”

“A symphony? Is that all? You really don't hear any words? I swear I almost had it. I don't know what I'm doing wrong.”

“I don't hear words,” he reaffirmed. When she looked downhearted, he nudged her with his elbow and grinned. “'Course, maybe your spell doesn't work on humans so well. Maybe it only works on squid. Or guppies. Or sea turtles! Maybe you made the first spell in the world for speaking with sea turtles!”

Annie huffed. “Or maybe you ought to listen _closer_.” Before he could react, she reached down with her free hand and splashed a handful of water in his face.

Finnick sputtered for just a moment, his bronze curls sticking limply to his forehead. “You did _not_ ,” he said warningly, but there was laughter in his tone.

“I did,” Annie replied: a challenge.

Soon they were splashing and dunking each other like children; in the dead of night, their shrieks of laughter rang clear all around. (And, oh, how peculiar they must have looked. He supposed, without the eyes of everybody else upon them, it was easy not to care.)

When the moon rose high in the sky, and they were both thoroughly drenched, they waded out of the lake and dried themselves with a few hot-air charms. They returned to the castle together, trying to keep their voices down in the corridors, but it never took long for Annie to find some topic that excited her. (“They should teach Legilimency properly here! Don't you think?”) She walked backwards while speaking, because she believed eye contact to be very important when having a conversation. Finnick nodded along, about to add in his own thoughts (“That would be nice, but would you really want to give all the students the power to read your mind?”), but he quickly snapped his jaw shut again when he saw something just beyond Annie's shoulder. Annie, however, did not seem to notice the change in his expression, because she continued her ramblings and backed straight into Professor Crane mid-sentence with a surprised squawk.

She whirled around on unsteady legs. “Professor Crane!” Annie gasped.

Crane peered at the two of them from over his nose. “Miss Cresta. Mr. O'Dair. It is well past curfew. What are you two doing outside of your dormitories?”

He looked to Annie, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. As a prefect, and an excellent escape artist, he would more than likely be able to slither his way out of trouble, but Annie…

“Miss Cresta?” Crane repeated, eyes glinting dangerously.

Annie shrank beneath his gaze. “I was— Ehm— Well, I mean—”

“Annie was helping me locate my loose homework,” Finnick cut in swiftly.

He turned to Annie again, and it did not take much more urging for her to see the look in his eye. “Yes. Yes! I was.”

“Really,” Crane deadpanned, not so much a question as a statement of disbelief.

“Yes! You see, I was finishing up my Charms homework before patrolling. I was practicing my Criario Charm, and the parchment just sprang legs and ran right out the door! So I went to find Annie to help me, because she's very good at the counter charm. Right, Annie?”

“That's right!” Annie jumped in. “Oh, but it had already gotten so far away already that we had to use a Locator spell to find it and—”

“—And it climbed one of the towers, on the other side of the castle, and it was a bit of a challenge to get it down, you see! Because it was up very high and I didn't have my broomstick with me. But we cornered it near the library—”

“—And I performed the counter charm—”

“—And now here we are!”

Crane looked back and forth between the two of them throughout their tale, looking no more convinced than when they started. “And where is your homework now?” he asked.

Finnick internally cursed himself. He hadn't thought that far ahead, and he didn't have anything with him to support their elaborate lie.

“Here it is! See? Completely legless,” Annie said, holding up a square of parchment, waving it around so Crane could not get a good look at the true contents.

They stood stark-still while Crane scrutinized them with his piercing gaze. Annie seemed to grow more and more restless the longer he stared, shuffling in place, wringing her hands; Finnick lightly knocked against her shoulder with his, something he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

Eventually, Crane heaved a sigh. “You two know the rules. For your own safety, no wandering the halls after hours, under any circumstances. Twenty points deducted from Ravenclaw and Slytherin each. Consider it a _very_ generous punishment. Now both of you, back to your dorm rooms at once.”

“Yes, Professor,” they said in tandem, hurrying down the corridor.

When they were well out of sight of Professor Crane, Annie stopped and caught Finnick by the sleeve. “That was an adventure!” she laughed breathlessly, hands resting upon her knees. Finnick rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

“Thanks for that,” she said, hugging him without warning, and he was taken aback by the contact. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on her back, but no sooner had he done so did she pull away. “I could've gotten _detention_. Imagine all the time I'd waste in there.”

He had to agree, because Annie in detention meant less time spent with her.

(… Less time spent to _seduce_ her, rather.)

“What was on the parchment anyway?” he asked, looking to her hands curiously.

“Oh. This?” She unfolded the little square, held it up for him to see. “It's that silly poem you gave me in Arithmancy. You remember?”

Finnick raised his eyebrows. Though she had just described it as “silly,” he hadn't thought she'd kept it with her, in the pockets of her robe.

“It makes me laugh,” she admitted, ducking her head and tucking the parchment back into her pocket.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Perhaps _“I could swim forever in your ocean eyes until my sea-green demise”_ really wasn't as good as he'd convinced himself it was, now that he thought about it. “Ah, well, I do live to make you smile, love,” he said with a crooked grin. As if on cue, Annie giggled, and the sound warmed him to the core.

This would be the perfect time to draw her up against his chest and kiss her senseless, pin her against the wall maybe, bury his hand in her hair, or coax her into the nearest classroom or closet and—

“'Lo? You're drifting.”

Finnick blinked a few times, everything coming back into sharp focus, to see Annie smiling at him uncertainly. “Are you awright?”

He gave his head a little shake, pushing aside the images that made heat rise up his neck. “Never better. Come on, I bet you're knackered. I'll walk you back to your dorm.”

He escorted her back to Ravenclaw tower and they walked in silence the rest of the way. Annie gave him a little wave halfway through the door to her dorms.

“G'night, Finnick O'Dair.”

He waved back. “'Night, Annie Cresta.”

That was enough adventure for one day.

  


 

Finnick clutched the Quaffle firmly between his side and the crook of his elbow. Behind, two of the Hufflepuff Chasers sped after him. Narrowly dodging a Bludger heading his way, he feinted to the left before swerving upward and looping back around to the goal hoops. He made a show of rolling the Quaffle from one hand to the other before throwing it at the center hoop. Peeta Mellark made a valiant effort at diving for the save, but it wasn't enough. The stands erupted in cheers and screams and whistles while Finnick did a celebratory lap around the pitch for his outstanding score.

The game ended with a score of 380 – 70 in their favor when Clover Zimmerman nabbed the golden snitch.

The teams landed back on the pitch for the traditional after-game handshakes. As soon as his feet touched back down on the grass, Finnick plastered on a grin and lifted his broomstick over his head, his signature victory pose. (Everybody knew his Firebolt Supreme had been a gift from a particularly wealthy admirer, something to keep him on the Quidditch team for as long as possible. By now, the broomstick was as much of a celebrity as he was, and all his fans still screamed as loud as they did when he first received it.)

He was immediately bombarded as soon as he stepped off the pitch, flocked by fans and classmates alike. He smiled and laughed and nodded at all the right places, but really, he was just looking for the right opportunity to slither away.

“Oi, O'Dair!”

Ah, there it was. Finnick looked up just in time to catch the balled-up scarf Johanna threw at him before it collided with his face. “Next time, spend less time looking at your reflection in the puddles and more time on the actual game, huh?”

“How am I supposed to look good scoring goals if I can't see myself?” he countered, tossing the scarf back. It unfurled in the air and half-draped over Johanna's shoulder, half over her arm. The crowd of admirers around him laughed in unison. He side-stepped his way out of the crowd and caught Johanna by the elbow. “Let's go get those sugar quills from my room to celebrate,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

Johanna quirked an eyebrow at him. She did not miss his stare. “Right, let's go.”

They hurried away. Johanna waited until they were a little ways from his fans before she spoke up again. “You really gonna share one of your sweets with me?”

“Nope,” he replied without looking at her. Instead, he craned his neck to scan the rest of the crowd near the pitch, searching for a mop of tangled brown hair.

Johanna elbowed him in the gut. “Your girlfriend's not here. I checked. Thought I could have some fun if she were. I bet she's off dunking her head into a toilet bowl anyway.”

Finnick turned to her and frowned. “She wouldn't do that. She's not a barbarian. She's just a bit… eccentric, is all.”

“And she's battier than Beer Quarry Caves.”

“She's not b— She hopes to pass eight OWLs this year,” he mumbled, suddenly unhappy for the company in his presence.

Johanna narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Yeah? You learn all that when you had your head under her skirt? I thought you were going to break her heart, not find out her favorite color.”

“I am. It just takes time.”

“Since when does banging-and-breaking a girl take this much _time_ for you? It's been months already.”

“This one's complicated, alright? I have it under control.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

He didn't like the look Johanna was giving him, like she knew something he didn't. Nobody ever kept secrets from Finnick O'Dair. “What?” he cautioned.

Johanna shrugged. “Everybody's saying you're her new guinea pig now.”

He bristled at just the thought. There was little he hated more than feeling used. (But he'd know if Annie Cresta was using him, wouldn't he?) “You'll see. I'll have her heart in the palm of my hands, and I'll crush it so finely, she won't be able to pick up all the pieces.”

_You'll see._ You'll see, you'll see.

  


 

His opportunity came in the form of a piece of parchment.

Marv Ahmad, one of the fourth year Hufflepuffs, was holding a party, after hours in the Shrieking Shack. A bit of fun before the inevitable woes of exams. He caught wind of it as a prefect, though he kept the information away from the stingier members of their little club should any moralists choose to inform Headmistress Paylor or Professor Boggs.

Still, plenty of others knew about it, and he didn't miss the coquettish smiles the girls sent his way when he passed them in the halls, like they were just waiting for him to ask one of them to the party. He returned their smiles but never took it any further. He knew asking Annie Cresta to accompany him would make a far better statement, let them know Finnick O'Dair was nobody's guinea pig, and a statement was just what he needed right now.

Glossawn McClellan had pointed him to the castle bell tower to find Annie. He'd never been in this part of the castle before, so he spent a few moments marveling at the towering wooden beams and stone walls.

“Finnick O'Dair, up here!”

He looked up. Annie was waving to him from beneath the massive copper bell, three stories up.

“Did you need something?” she hollered. Her voice reverberated strangely, bouncing off the inner walls of the bell above her head. It was like hearing a million Annies at once.

“Yes! A load of us will be meeting tonight at the Shrieking Shack after hours,” he bellowed back as he began ascending the winding staircase to her.

“Say again? Finnick O'Dair, I can't hear you!”

Finnick swallowed, bracing himself to begin his invitation anew. He wished he had his broomstick. That would make ascending this tower so much easier. “I said,” he began again, raising his voice a few decibels, “a load of us are going to the Shrieking Shack, and there's a party there and—“

“WHAT?”

“AND THERE'S A PARTY THERE AND I WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU WANTED TO GO—“

“ _WHAT?_ ”

“GO! _TO THE SHRIEKING SHACK!_ _ **WITH ME!”**_ He was shouting at the top of his lungs now. He feared he'd lose his voice, if he yelled anymore, and that would hinder him terribly for lectures. He nearly leaped straight out of his skin when Annie suddenly poked her head around the corner, just inches from his face.

“Awright. No need to yell,” she said, grinning toothily. “I'll go with you, Finnick O'Dair.”

  


 

They were to meet outside the castle, on the way to the forest. He had offered to meet her outside her dormitory, but she insisted that she'd be fine sneaking out on her own. He was glad to be out of his school uniform, dressed in pressed slacks, a button-up top, open at the collar, and a wool coat for warmth.

At ten minutes past their meeting time, he was beginning to consider going to look for her, but she arrived all the same. She, too, was out of uniform. Her normally knotted hair was only slightly tamer than usual. She wore a billowy, silver dress with long flowing sleeves. In place of her normal Ravenclaw house scarf was a silken handkerchief round her throat. She was perhaps overdressed for the occasion, but he had to admit, the way the moonlight reflected off her skirt, she possessed an unearthly sort of beauty.

“If Professor Crane catches us again, we'll be in right trouble,” she said.

Finnick grinned. “He won't catch us. And if he does, we're taking everybody else down with us.” He offered her his arm and she looped her own through it.

There were a surprising number of students at the Shrieking Shack. Head Girl Enobaria Pritchett, the McClellan siblings, Marv Ahmad, Brutus Powell, Gale Hawthorne, Thresh Ferguson, Delly Cartwright, Madge Undersee, and some others he did not know. Johanna Mason stood in the corner, eying him over a mug of Firewater. As soon as he had mentioned bringing Annie along as his date for the party, nothing could have kept her from going to see the show. He wrapped an arm around Annie's waist, a clear message to Johanna of his intentions, but Annie seemed too enamored with the decorations to notice.

“Gloss! Cas! Enobaria, hello!” Annie squealed, waving frantically to the Head Boy, his sister, and the Head Girl. Sometimes he had to remind himself that Annie Cresta was far from the antisocial mad girl the school thought her to be.

She slipped away from his grasp to talk to her friends. He made to join her, but Johanna took the opportunity to approach. “How are our little lovebirds doing, eh?” she said, smirking.

“Very well, if you'd give me the chance to do anything about it,” Finnick replied coolly.

“Is she going to do anything batty tonight? I've never been able to see any of it on my own. I heard she once skipped fifth period to hang upside-down for two whole hours.”

“I don't know, and I told you already, she's not batty.”

Johanna started to reply, but her attention moved to something just behind him, and he turned to follow her gaze.

Annie was dancing in the middle of the room, arms over her head, eyes closed to the world around her. There was no music; she seemed to be moving to a song all her own.

Johanna looked as though she were trying very hard not to laugh. She turned her brown eyes up at him, as if the sight answered her well enough. Finnick tried very hard to keep his expression neutral, not wishing to reward her smug look.

“Excuse me,” he said shortly, making his way back to Annie.

Annie still had her eyes shut, so she did not notice him approach. As he drew close, he caught her hand and twirled her around. Annie willingly followed the motion. Her dress flared out from her waist, a glittering pool of silver that rippled like waves in the water. She opened her eyes, blinked once, and beamed when she met his gaze. Wordlessly, she grasped his other hand, pulling him into an upbeat dance. He followed her lead, hesitantly at first, all too aware of the stares they captured around the room, until Annie leaped at him, forcing him to grab hold of her while they spun together, just a bit unsteady. When her feet touched the ground again, and they regained their balance, she tipped her head back and let out the most joyous laugh. He couldn't stop himself from laughing along with her.

Suddenly, it was as if nobody else in the world existed but the two of them, dancing together. The only things that mattered were the touch of their hands, the sway of their hips, the beat of their steps. Annie twirled on perched toes, once, twice, three times, ending by throwing her arms around his neck and catching herself. He caught her too, arms wrapping around her petite form, pressed flush against his chest.

She smiled up at him, cheeks pink, eyes bright. “I hear it,” she said quietly, just loud enough for him to pick up. “I hear the symphony.”

He returned her smile, unable to look away from the deep green of her eyes. He swore, he could hear it too.

“Well aren't you two just the sweetest pair?”

The spell upon them broke as soon as somebody else had spoken. He tore his gaze away from Annie and turned to see Johanna, grinning smugly. (Really, baring her teeth more than grinning.) He glared at her warningly, willing her to leave them be, but that only seemed to make her smile grow another notch.

Annie appeared completely oblivious to any negative intentions, only smiling kindly and offering her hand. “Hello! I'm Annie Cresta.”

Johanna shook her hand without hesitation. “Oh yes, I know. Finnick's told me so much about you, Annie.”

She looked up at Finnick with a curious eye. “Has he?”

“Oh yes! He says you've been keeping very busy.”

“It's true! He's been helping me very much, you know. I want to create many spells, one day. Spells that will help people. I've already made a few. I have one that will place a comically oversized bath stopper on any surface. Oh! And another that will order a pie from anywhere. Only seems to work when nobody's in the mood for pie, though. There's another one in the works right now, but it's not quite ready.”

“Really? I'd love to see it one day.” Johanna's smile was impossibly large. Larger than he'd ever seen it before. He had no doubt that Johanna was endlessly amused by Annie Cresta, but he had a feeling it wasn't for an entirely benevolent reason.

“Annie, do you mind if I talk to Johanna for a second?” he cut in abruptly. Before either of them could properly react, he pulled Johanna roughly to the far edge of the room. “What are you doing?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

Johanna yanked her arm back and shrugged. “I'm just talking to her,” she said coolly, brushing aside his ire. “Thought I could help you out.”

“I don't need any help,” he snapped.

“I'll say. The way you two were dancing out there, I'm surprised you can't get a girl any faster than you already do, with those moves. She sounds like a real keeper, by the way! No wonder you've been taking your time with this one. She's a card. Oversized bath stoppers! The mind on that girl.”

Finnick felt his cheeks burning, whether from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't say. It wasn't the first, fifth, or even one-hundredth time Johanna has ribbed him. And she has surely said much worse. But this time in particular rubbed him the wrong way. “Dry up, Mason. I know what you're trying to do, and you certainly didn't do any of that because you planned on grabbing a cup of tea together one day. So just mind your own business and feckin' quit it.”

Immediately, Johanna's smirk fell in the face of Finnick's seriousness. “So what, you fancy her?” she spat. Finnick was stunned into silence, words catching in his throat. “Don't act all high and mighty with me, O'Dair. Like you've got such innocent intentions. Let's not forget whose idea this was in the first place. Grow a bloody backbone and spare me this.”

She pushed past him, intentionally knocking against his shoulder with hers. He watched her leave without another word.

He was at once all too aware that he was still in an open room, surrounded by his peers. He looked around frantically, convincing himself that nobody had been staring, though not quite believing it. He searched the room for Annie, finding her in the opposite corner. To occupy herself, she was talking animatedly with Brutus Powell, a direct contrast to the normally stoic Gryffindor. Finnick simply watched her for a moment, sure that talking to her was not a good idea right then, not with the way his insides felt like they were twisted all sorts of ways.

Instead, he slipped outside, into the quiet night. The biting cold of the air hit his face immediately, chilling him to the bone. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets, wishing he had brought his wand along with him. The sounds of the party within the Shrieking Shack dulled into white noise. He found a spot in the dead grass for him to sit, and cast his eyes to the horizon. He could make out the outlines of all the little shops and houses in Hogsmeade in the distance, dimly lit by those who had yet to blow out their lanterns for the night.

“Fin—”

He jerked away from a sudden touch against his shoulder. Annie stared back at him, mouth open, looking equally startled. Her hand hovered in the space he'd just occupied, but she did not attempt to touch him again.

“What are you doing creeping up on me like that?” he wheezed, clutching at his heart. Even in the dead of night, he hadn't heard her approaching.

“I didn't mean to,” she said sheepishly. “I just came out to look for you. Why aren't you back in the party?”

“I just felt like getting some fresh air,” he lied, rather feebly.

But his answer seemed to appease her. She nodded, gathered her skirt in her hands and plopped down beside him. “Aren't you having fun?” She cocked her head to the side.

“Of course.” That was at least half-true, even if he didn't show it. Like sitting outside, alone, at night was “having fun.” He redirected the question back at her. “And you? Are you having fun?”

Her eyes brightened, and he knew she would not lie like he did. “Oh, loads! I don't usually go to parties. Gloss and Cas try to get me to go with them whenever there's a party, but I'm usually too busy to go. But I thought I'd try it out for once. I like new things.” Briefly, she placed her hand upon his shoulder, careful not to startle him again. “Thank you for asking me to go with you.”

Finnick nodded, and they exchanged hesitant smiles. A solemn air settled between them. He had a lot to tell her. The truth, perhaps, or the extent of his feelings, or even just _You're welcome._ A whole novel rested on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn't a clue where to begin.

“I'm sorry about Johanna,” he murmured at last. It was a good place to start as any.

But Annie only laughed pleasantly. “Don't apologize for other people, Finnick O'Dair. You can't control everything.”

He had just enough energy to summon just a bit of his usual self. “Who says?” he whined, narrowing his eyes.

“Nobody says, but you still can't. Only so much you can do. And people will only do what they want, in the end. You only have a responsibility to yourself, don't you understand? But thank you. For the effort.”

Finnick playfully bumped his shoulder against hers. “Got to keep your honor intact after-all, love.”

Annie narrowed her eyes and puffed out a sigh. “Finnick O'Dair, what did I just say?” But there was laughter in his eyes and he felt the tensions within him ease bit by bit.

He had underestimated her again. He thought she would fall apart with enough pushing and prodding. Or that she was too naïve to understand the true nature of their little jabs. And he hated himself, because he knew better. He knew by now, out of anybody, that she was far smarter than they made her out to be. He couldn't have it both ways, reveling in her attention when they were alone, yet shying away from her reputation while in public. Sometimes, he wished just the very feeling of all eyes upon him wouldn't make his better judgment run away screaming. Sometimes, he wished he could just _be._

Suddenly he felt a weight upon his shoulder and he looked down to see Annie dozing off. Finnick grinned wryly. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you, Annie Cresta?”

She shook her head slightly without opening her eyes, mumbled something that she probably meant to sound like “Wouldn't dream of it, Finnick O'Dair,” but it came out as an unintelligible murmur, and he knew she was gone. He fought the urge to chuckle, fearing the shake of his shoulders would jostle her awake.

He studied her, beneath the moonlight, the flutter of her eyelashes, the graceful slope of her nose, the way her chestnut hair tumbled in waves around her shoulders. How easy it would be to slip the top of her sleeve down and touch his lips to her pale shoulder, trace her collarbone, so often hidden by her scarf, with the tip of his tongue.

Finnick swallowed thickly, hesitating to act. Not because he was afraid. No. It was… the wrong time. Nobody was around to see. It would be rude to wake her, bring her back inside the shack. And it was late, and who would even remember this night anyway?

He carried her all the way back to the castle, without returning to the party, only nudging her awake when he needed her to open the way to the Ravenclaw dorms. When she was safely tucked into bed, he sneaked back through the halls and slipped into the Slytherin dormitory before he could get caught.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be better.

  


 

He saw Annie cry for the first time.

It was none of his business, and he would have never known about it if they hadn't crossed paths on his way to first period. He hadn't planned to seek her out, but he caught her heading in his direction quickly, and it was the only logical choice. Already smiling, he called out to her. But instead of answering, she breezed past him, and it was then that he saw the tear tracks on her cheeks and the red puffiness of her eyes.

And then it was his business.

He had only witnessed the tail end of it. From what he gathered, from the laughter and whispers, a trio of seventh year Gryffindors—Simon Cray and two of his cronies—had made a bet to see which of them could steal away her scarf. The shock of it had her clutching her exposed neck, gasping for air from the on-comings of a panic attack as the group danced around her mockingly. She'd managed to pull her hand away from her throat long enough to place a well-aimed jinx upon one of the boys and retrieve her scarf before dashing off.

Finnick looked back to the direction Annie had disappeared. His eyes narrowed resolutely.

(That's right, Annie Cresta's humiliation was _his_ to take, wasn't it? That's what he was here for. That's what he had set out to do, he had to remind himself, because surely the blinding rage he felt for Simon Cray was out of greed and nothing else.)

Finnick strode with purpose to the courtyard. (He hadn't the time to feel so immensely proud of Annie for nailing one of the finest Noodle Nose-Hair Jinxes he'd ever seen.) Simon Cray was still there with one of his friends, chatting casually as if he hadn't just caused Annie Cresta so much upset. Finnick cut across the grass, made eye contact with Cray only a second before he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it directly at him.

“ _Billium!”_

A thick jet of black goo sprang forth from the end of his wand, dousing the seventh year completely. Cray let out a strangled cry, only ending up choking on the goo. The reaction around the courtyard was explosive, some students gasping, some shrieking, some laughing. Drawing his wand, Cray managed to spit enough of the substance out of his mouth to utter a hex of his own.

That was how the two of them ended up in the hospital wing, on separate ends of the room. Finnick was covered in red, painful welts that stung if he just so much as raised his eyebrows, but he was willing to bet he came out the better of the two. Cray was covered head to toe with the black goo, which only thickened and cured into a smothering sludge as time wore on. The school Matron, Madam Everdeen, was taking great care to lift the goo without peeling away his skin in the process. Cray glared at him from across the room, and despite the stinging protest of his nerves, Finnick did not hesitate to glare back.

As Madam Everdeen began dabbing on some healing salve that tingled on his skin, Finnick heard a pair of voices outside the door.

“That's Annie,” he said, sitting up. Madam Everdeen immediately pushed him back down onto the mattress with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, a motion she seemed to deeply regret when Finnick hissed in pain.

“Sorry, lad, but you need to stay still if you expect me to do this right. Miss Cresta is discussing what she witnessed of your little altercation with Headmistress Paylor right now. She will probably be in shortly, once I'm done here.”

Finnick nodded wordlessly and lay back while Madam Everdeen continued her work. The sooner she finished, the sooner Annie could come in to visit. When the Matron finished up tending to his maladies and stepped out into the hall for a moment, he fidgeted in the bed, growing antsier by the second. But when she came back into the room, Annie did not follow after her, and he could no longer hear her voice out in the hallway. As the minutes ticked away, it became clearer to him that Annie would not be coming in to see him at all.

“Where is she?” he asked impatiently. “I want to see her.”

Madam Everdeen looked up from sorting the phials in her cabinet. “Miss Cresta has decided to let you rest. And you _are_ to rest, Mr. O'Dair. I've had you excused from your classes for the remainder of the day. Professor Heavensbee will discuss a proper punishment for your actions later.”

The protest died on his lips when Madam Everdeen shot him a steely warning look, so he resigned himself to lying back and anxiously tracing his fingers against the Celtic knot pattern on his wand, only taking an hour or two to actually sleep. Why hadn't Annie come to see him? He'd tarred Cray for her, after-all. If not to see him, then surely just the sight of a pink-as-a-newborn Cray would amuse her enough to visit, and they could poke fun at him all they wanted while he lay just a few meters away. Finnick wished he had a Draught of Peace on hand—hell, he'd brew it himself if he had to—anything to soothe his racing mind.

When he was deemed well enough to return to classes, Madam Everdeen shooed him off with a bit of extra salve and a warning to stay out of trouble. He'd gotten away with a mere ten point deduction from Professor Heavensbee and a stern lecture that he was a prefect, he had to be a better role model for his peers. The Slytherin common room, on the other hand, greeted him with cheers and hearty pats on the back for his stand against Cray. Johanna wanted to hear all the dirty details, how angry Headmistress Paylor was, and was it true that he had given Cray a pair of horns and a tail, but Finnick wanted nothing more than to pass out in his bed and sleep until class time.

  


 

If he had to judge her on the way she acted the next day, then he would've said she'd forgotten completely about the incident with Simon Cray. They did not speak in class, during Charms and History of Magic, which was perfectly normal. Even after he'd made it his goal to seduce Annie Cresta, they hadn't interacted much during lectures. Second period had ended, and when she quickly gathered her things and rushed out of the classroom, he did not pursue, noting her haste. Annie, too, had her own life, her own matters to worry about. He hadn't thought much of it.

At least, he hadn't, until Johanna sat beside him during lunch period.

“So I heard Crazy's going to break up with you,” she said with the largest shit-eating grin he'd ever seen. “I take it that means I'm out ten galleons?”

Finnick nearly choked on his sandwich, and had to quickly wash it down with his flagon of pumpkin juice. “Who says that?” he stammered, ignoring her question. There was an edge of panic to his words, and an iciness in his belly that he did not like in the slightest.

“ _Everybody.”_ Johanna did not elaborate, and Finnick glared at her until she relented. “I heard it from Hawthorne, who heard it from Youngest Everdeen, who heard it from Delly Cartwright, who heard it from the McClellans, who heard it from Felicia Todd.”

“And how would Felicia Todd know a thing like that?” he snapped. Felicia Todd, with her narrow eyes and her sharp fox-like face, was always sticking her nose into other people's business.

Johanna scowled. “What am I, your lap dog? _You're_ the one s'pposed to know everybody's secrets, O'Dair, not me.”

Finnick didn't know what to say to that. It would certainly explain why she'd been acting so strange, why she hadn't visited him in the hospital wing, but… He shook his head; he didn't dare think about it. This was a simple misunderstanding, because Finnick O'Dair was the one to break up with the girls, not the other way around… And even if she _did_ want to break up with him, what reason did she have?

He supposed she might still be upset about the incident with Cray. Was Cray actually a friend of hers? Did he misread her reaction? Did _she_ want to be the one to punish Cray for his actions instead? Or did she not like what he had done altogether? None of it made sense, with the way he knew his Annie.

He hadn't realized he'd been fretting and muttering to himself until Johanna made an irritated noise in the back of her throat.

“Oh, enough with the lost puppy act already, O'Dair,” Johanna spat, stabbing her knife into the center of her sandwich. “It was funny the first few times, but now it's just maddening. You've been tip-toeing around this whole Cresta will-you-won't-you thing for ages, and I'm bleedin' sick of seeing what a chicken-shit you've become. Forget the money, forget the bet, just fuckin' do something about it, I don't care what it is, just _do_ it. Get _over_ yourself. Get your head outta your arse and figure out what the bloody hell you _want.”_

Finnick sat in stunned silence as Johanna stormed away. His first reaction was to feel absolutely downtrodden. They'd gotten into rows before, certainly, but never like this, like she was disappointed in him. His shoulders sagged. His second reaction was to feel irritated. What right did she have to tell him what to do? Didn't she know he only had a responsibility to himself? Annie said so herself.

Johanna was right. Maddening was the right word for this, because all of it was slowly driving him mad.

He had to find Annie.

  


 

(Overnight, he'd snuck the tin of treacle fudge he'd been saving into Johanna's things for her to find, as an apology. Later, she came to him demanding he get off his arse and stop wasting time, but she never tried returning the tin, and in the next hour he found her noshing on a square of fudge, so he figured he'd been forgiven.)

Somehow, Annie always managed to evade him. She'd leave any classes they shared in a hurry before he could catch her, or find some excuse to stay out of arm's reach. Her friends would only give him curious stares when he asked about her whereabouts.

She was in none of her usual spots. He'd been determined to turn the whole place upside-down just to find her, but the vastness of Hogwarts Castle proved to be a fearsome opponent. After checking the Great Lake, the bell tower, the courtyard, the owlery, several of the classrooms, and the Great Hall, he was certain he must have covered most of the school grounds, only to realize that wasn't even a fourth of the castle.

It'd been so easy to find her before, even given the sheer size of Hogwarts Castle. It was as if he were magnetized to her, or her to him, or both.

The Ravenclaw dormitories would be a good indicator as to where she could be, he deduced. He knew of the Ravenclaw knocker, had witnessed her answer its riddle, though she'd been too sleepy for him to properly hear her words.

How hard could it possibly be?

He lifted the ring clutched in the beak of the bronze eagle and knocked.

“ _What becomes of a broomstick when all its parts are remade?”_ said the knocker.

Finnick stared at the knocker silently.

The knocker stared at him silently.

He didn't bother with the knocker any further.

The longer he was away from her, the more his anxieties mounted. He was all too aware of the whispers from his peers, felt their piteous stares the longer he agonized over this, and that only made it harder to bear. Over and over, his fingers traced the intricate pattern on his wand, seeking the comfort of the shapes that never changed. Knots and loops and figure-eights, no discernible beginning or ending, but that could only distract him for so long.

He was in the middle of conversing with Cashmore McClellan about an upcoming prefect meeting, lounging against the railings from the fifth floor of the Grand Staircase, when he finally caught a glimpse of knotted brown hair and a thick blue and bronze scarf down below.

“Annie!” he shouted, leaning over the parapet. Startled, Annie looked up and met his eyes. “Annie, wait there!” He forgot all about Cas McClellan and practically flew down the stairs, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, if he could manage. The pathway briskly morphed beneath his feet, as if sensing his need to hurry. He was careful to avoid the trick stairs, should they slow him down, until he reached the ground floor, panting.

She was nowhere to be seen.

He screamed and raged and did not stop, not even when a pair of third years passed by and shot him strange looks.

She had learned this somewhere. This art of escaping. That was how they were with one another, wasn't it? They had wormed their way into each other's lives, slowly, and without him realizing it, filling in the gaps he hadn't known were there at all until there was no other way they could possibly be filled by anything else.

Something to worry about. As smart as she was, now he could say that Annie was wrong about one thing. Yes, he had something to worry about, but that didn't make this easier. He couldn't concentrate at all.

The fact was that Annie Cresta was actively avoiding him and he didn't know why.

  


 

It was by sheer luck that he had the chance to speak to her at all for the first time in four days. He had rounded the corner in one of the corridors at the exact moment she rounded another corner across the way. They stood staring at each other for just a moment before Finnick gasped, “There you are!”

Annie remained wide-eyed and ramrod straight, looking ready to flee at any second. He crossed over to her quickly before that could happen, taking only a few long strides to reach her. Suddenly, everything he had kept bottled up went pouring out of his mouth without his bidding.

“Finnick—“

“Do you know how _long_ I've been searching for you?” he cried. “You disappear with no warning at all, and you didn't write or send an owl or— or _anything_ —”

“Finnick, I—”

“I don't even know what you were doing this whole time. You run off as soon as class is finished, or you skip altogether. I mean, if I did something wrong, you could've told me instead of just hiding! You'd think you'd warn a guy or something—”

“ _Finnick—”_

“—or at least tell somebody else to— No, no, don't 'Finnick' me! You think I don't know what's going on, but I do! I hear what everybody's saying. And I'm not letting it happen, not until you tell me what's really going on. So there! There you have it! I reject your rejection!”

Her eyes were darting around. The corridor was full of students making their way to their classrooms between periods, and for once, Annie looked embarrassed. He was certain all eyes were on them now, but he didn't care.

She caught him by the sleeve and yanked him through the closest door: the library.

“Finnick, what has gotten into you?” she demanded.

“Gotten into _me?_ You're the one who's been avoiding me!”

When she averted her gaze, he knew he had caught her. “Annie, look at me.” She matched his eyes again, brows knitted. “What's really going on here? Are we done? Were we… Were we ever a _thing?_ Or was this just a… a…”

“A game?” she finished, looking at him pointedly.

Finnick swallowed hard.

“So you're mad at me, then? Is that it?”

“No— Well. Yes. I mean— I don't know.”

“Either you are or you aren't, Annie. And you certainly aren't fleeing from me every chance you get because everything's hunky-dory peachy-keen. So what is it? What's wrong?”

She was silent for a long moment. “What's it matter? What's it to you what I do anyway?”

He felt his temper flaring hotly in his chest again. “Well I don't know! Maybe because I was worried! Maybe because I hadn't seen you in four days without a word. I nearly destroyed the castle just looking for you!”

“ _Shhh!!”_

They jumped back from each other, looking to the librarian, Madam Lavinia, who had shushed them harshly.

“Finnick, I didn't mean to make you worry,” Annie said, calmer.

“Too late for that, isn't it? And—” He stopped his tirade long enough to catch his breath, because he just realized something very important. “And you're calling me Finnick!”

She looked perplexed, like he'd suddenly grown a second head. “Well that's your _name_ , innit?”

“Yes, but you—” He quickly lowered his voice when Madam Lavinia glared in their direction again. “You never called me by just my name before.”

“I— Why did you do that to Simon Cray?”

“Because he hurt you!” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. If there were ever a time where he resented her propensity for jumping topics so abruptly, it'd be now.

“Well, I didn't ask you to!” she countered.

Finnick clutched at the ends of his hair, exasperated. They were going around in circles and he was sad and angry and frustrated all at once and he couldn't make heads or tails of what she was thinking and she wouldn't _look_ at him and—

“Because I was scared, awright?” she spat, suddenly giving him the answer he'd been demanding all along. He fell silent. “I just. When you did that to Simon Cray, I didn't understand why. So I tried to figure it out, and I was scared of the answer I found.”

“I scare you?” he whispered.

She nodded slowly, and he felt his heart plummet in his chest.

“And I scare you too,” she added.

Immediately, a million dissents fell from his lips, _No, no, you're wrong. I'm not. It's not like that. You don't understand._

“Finnick, listen.” She was pleading with him with her eyes, but at least she was looking at him now. He swallowed thickly and nodded. (But still, he did not like the way his stomach dropped to his toes, the way his heart thumped so obviously in his chest. Of course, she was right again, because he _was_ scared. Of the truth? Perhaps. But mostly he was scared because he did not know if there circumstances had ever been right.)

“I just thought we were having fun, you know? I _was_ having fun. These last few months, it was like I was having the time of my life. I _liked_ being with you. So much. Too much. But. I'm.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, as if trying to keep all her words dammed up behind her fingers, and yet they came pouring out all the same.

“I like you, Finnick. I'm fond of you. And I'm scared. I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared. Because. Because it's not that easy. For either of us. Because now that I know what I want, now I know what I can't have.”

He had to take a long moment to process her words, because amid the deluge of her fears and concerns, one truth shone brightly above the rest. Annie Cresta, who selflessly offered to proof his papers even after spending hours working on her own with no rest. Annie Cresta, who felt everything with such depth and honesty. Annie Cresta, who felt no shame in who she was because she could never be anybody else, so she would never _want_ to be anybody else. Annie Cresta, who brought the most magnificent ideas to life armed with nothing but her brilliant mind. That Annie Cresta. Had feelings for him.

_Oh._

Tentatively, he reached for her hand. He kept a loose grip on her fingers, leaving enough space for her to pull away. She didn't. “Why wouldn't I let you have me?” he whispered. Her expression looked hopeful and tortured all at once, and he was suddenly filled with the need to wipe out every unhappy thought from her mind. He needed to make her smile again. “You're the kindest, smartest, loveliest girl I know, and anybody would be crazy not to see that. I mean. You're the only girl who could get me so excited about walking around in the lake at the crack of dawn. I mean it. I—” He swallowed, taking the time to collect his thoughts. She was staring at him thoughtfully. Feeling bolder, he carefully laced his fingers with hers. “Can we, maybe—? Can we, maybe, just be honest with each other from now on? I mean. I can't say I'll be perfect. I get scared too. But I'll do my best. I'll try. For you, I'll try. Because I'm wild about you, Annie Cresta, and I'd do anything to keep you.”

She looked as though she wasn't sure whether to feel happy or sad. The corners of her lips kept twitching up one second, dropping back down the next. Lightly, she squeezed his hand, but she gave him a peculiar sort of look. “You're very odd, you know.”

He couldn't help it; Finnick threw his head back and laughed, feeling absolutely elated, even when she knit her brow in confusion. She was so, so very endearing. “I am,” he agreed. “Just means we'll go well together, you and I.”

That seemed to crack the last bit of resistance within her, because Annie graced him with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. It was like she was glowing from the inside out, the way her face lit up so incandescently. “I do like you far better when you're honest,” she conceded.

“Well lucky you, I like you just as much,” he said, grinning cheekily.

She scoffed and poked him in the stomach. “Just like you to ruin the moment.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but then looked thoughtful. “I'd be okay if you kissed me though,” she said, taking a half-step forward.

His grin softened into something more genuine. “I'd be okay too. More than okay,” he said, closing the distance even further.

Annie smiled, slowly, shyly. She snaked her hands around his neck, tugged him down.

The first time, his nose bumped against hers before their lips could meet. She let out a small squeak, and he held up his hand, touching the point where they had collided.

“Try again,” she said. He was happy to oblige. She was tiny; she had to perch on the toes of her runners and he had to crane his neck down to meet her, but the moment his lips met hers, it was all worth it.

Apparently emboldened, she tugged down on his neck, perhaps a bit stronger than she intended, because she pitched backwards, and he followed. They landed in a heap on a pile of books, teeth knocking together painfully. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, eyes wide in mutual surprise. Then Annie let out an undignified snort. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, but it did nothing to hide her wide smile stretched across her cheeks – he wasn't faring much better – and soon they were both laughing wildly.

“ _Shhhh!!”_

They slapped their hands over their mouths simultaneously. Annie giggled again, quieter this time, and he smiled at the sound.

They really did look very odd, didn't they?

“Try again,” he said, cupping her cheek. They didn't fit together quite so perfectly yet, but that would only get better, with time.

Annie shifted, keeping one hand wound around the back of his neck, pushing away some books that were digging into her back with the other, because snogging on a pile of sharp-cornered books really wasn't as comfortable as some students made it out to be. He hovered over her on his elbows as she settled back, and kissed her again. And again. And again.

It faintly registered in his head, as he buried his hand into the tangled tresses of her hair, that he'd started off this escapade searching for something sweet, though, for the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on what that was anymore, because surely there was nothing sweeter than the taste of Annie Cresta's lips upon his.

  


 

Annie sat facing a corridor wall, scribbling on a piece of parchment she had pressed flush against it. She had her canary yellow shoes off and neatly set beside her.

“Annie!” She looked up and couldn't stop from smiling when she spotted Finnick waving to her from down the hall. “I've been looking for you! Come on, love, we gotta leg it, we'll be late for Potions!”

“Coming!” she hollered back and hurried to shove on her shoes.

“No running, Annie,” Gloss chided as he passed by. “How's that experiment of yours going, by the way?”

Annie blinked up at Gloss owlishly. “Experiment?”

“You told me O'Dair was heckling you, so you were going to put him through the wringer to see how long it takes before he cracks?”

“Oh, that silly old thing?” Annie smiled coyly. “I gave that up ages ago.”

Annie ignored the puzzled look Gloss gave her and skipped down the hall to where Finnick awaited.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> This fic makes a reference to a webcomic I follow called [Cucumber Quest](http://cucumber.gigidigi.com/). It's charming and adorable, and you guys should read it.
> 
> If you like what you've read, please consider following my tumblr, and check out my [Yew & Ivy tag](http://thewildwilds.tumblr.com/tagged/yew%20&%20ivy), where I post wips, artwork, and more! Check it out @ thewildwilds.tumblr.com


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